


Lucky Stones

by pythagorean_identity



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blood and Injury, Masochism, Masturbation, getting off on death, lots of talk of dying, this is just... really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythagorean_identity/pseuds/pythagorean_identity
Summary: Kimblee gets off on his own approaching death after getting speared through by a piece of pipe on the way up to North City.





	Lucky Stones

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on my longer fics but instead I'm just writing awful oneshots of Kimblee being awful ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Hello? North City? We have a gravely injured passenger, please send an ambulance to the station for when we arrive.”

The train was slowly building back up to it’s original speed, and the radio crackled back a response.

“ _Passenger? I thought you were a cargo train,_ ” the operator asked.

The engineer sighed. 

“Listen, we have a man with a piece of pipe sticking through his side. Just… have an ambulance, ok? And maybe a torch to cut down the pipe so he can be moved easier.”

“ _I’ll let the hospital know._ ”

 

Rivaling the biting wind of the train’s passage was the pain. It was all-consuming. The cold wanted to drag Kimblee into shivering unconsciousness, but the pain kept him sharp. Alive. His own blood steamed with heat along his side, while his face and hands burned with cold. 

He could feel his life dripping away, oozing down his body, spilling from the train and into the snow. He could feel death breathing down his neck as both the winter freeze and the length of pipe pinning him to the train car.

Kimblee had never felt more alive.

His body sang with it, even if he was coughing every other breath, even if his vision was blurring, and he could barely feel his fingers. The cold air burned at the back of his throat with each breath. It was so cold it hurt. Which set his nerves on fire even more. 

Bringing up the stones hurt more than he anticipated. Perhaps the pipe had pierced his stomach, a thought that had him frown. Well, if he was going to die, he didn’t want the stones to be lost inside him, and he certainly didn’t want some random coroner cutting them out of him. He raised a trembling hand, and spat the two philosophers stones into his hand. Kimblee’s whole mouth tasted like blood, and he wasn’t sure if regurgitating the stones had added to the flavor or not. There was no way of telling if his stomach was damaged or not, then.

The stones were wet and still warm from his body. He forced his hand closed around them. He didn’t doubt that once it held the position long enough, in this temperature, he would hold those stones until even after his death. His hand would lock, then freeze, around the two perfect instruments of destruction.

Was he going to die? His heart pounded in his ears, as if trying to outdo the wind. He didn’t particularly want to die, he wanted to see what was supposed to happen next, but of all the ways to go perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad.

For some reason, really thinking about his approaching death sparked something in Kimblee’s bleeding stomach. 

And like the man dying of cold he was, he clung to that spark. Strangely, it lit against the pain, and blazed. 

Kimblee was going to die. If he didn’t bleed out, then the cold would get him, and if neither of those, then perhaps some sort of nasty infection from the pipe currently stuck through his side. Battling the cold, he frowned at that. He didn’t want to die from an infection. That felt like an anticlimactic way to go. 

If he was going to die, to die from this wound he currently had, he wanted to die here. Out on the back of the train, in the cold.

The thought sent a thrill through his body. What a way to go!

With a hand stiff with cold, the one not clutched around his philosopher’s stones, he clumsily palmed the front of his pants. He wasn’t coordinated to do much more, but it felt good. What was a little more bodily fluids on his clothes when he was already soaked and freezing? If he lived, _if_ , then he could deal with that mild embarrassment.   
“You can’t be embarrassed if you’re dead,” he rasped, and the pain-fueled spark in his belly grew. 

His already ragged breath came harder and harsher. The last vestiges of heat in his body seemed to be concentrated in his groin, and the pain and cold seemed to move over for pleasure. Kimblee trembled, and he wasn’t sure what was causing it anymore.

He was dying, but he’d never felt more alive.

He was dying! He was dying, and he was getting off on his own approaching death. 

Kimblee laughed, but it was cut short with another coughing fit, one that forced him to double over, and he accidentally nudged the pipe, which sent white-hot pain through his side and left him gasping. He was close. To death. To his climax. Each breath was like trying to inhale shards of ice. He couldn’t uncurl the fingers of his left hand if he tried. The taste of his own blood was heavy on his tongue, and he could barely feel his legs. He could barely feel anything. 

And then Kimblee could feel everything. The tingling heat of an orgasm shot through his body, returning feeling to his frozen limbs temporarily. His vision cleared for a few rapid heartbeats. Enough to see the train pass out of the pine forest they had been traveling through. 

It wasn’t a bad place to die.

His head dropped forwards heavily, and he ceased.

 

“Fuckin’ hell, they weren’t kidding, were they. Hurry! Make sure he’s still alive!” One of the paramedics said, pausing for a moment when they saw the pale figure sitting at the edge of the last train car. “Wonder what happened to him to end up like that. Speared on a train up to North City.”

 

Then surprisingly, Kimblee came to. Blinking thick sleep from his eyes, he struggled to get a very boring view of the room he was in. Bland colorless walls that couldn’t even be called white, and an even more boring ceiling. If this was the afterlife, it was a very sorry hell indeed.

He tried to sit up, but the pain was too great, enough to send spots of color dancing in his vision, and to leave him breathless. After that experiment, he felt at his side with stiff fingers, and was met with the thin material of a hospital gown, and under that, the soft give of bandages. As well as the jolt of pain.

Not hell, then. Still alive. Kimblee was surprisingly a little bit disappointed. Perhaps a boring death by infection was what he was doomed for after all. 

It was too much energy to keep his eyes open, so he closed them again. He slept, perhaps, or maybe just lay there with his eyes closed, for a few hours before the sound of footsteps and a door opening brought him back to wakefulness. 

He opened his eyes, and turned his head slightly towards the noise and saw a nurse, changing his IV.

“Oh, good you’re awake! What’s your name?” she asked. 

“Kimblee. Solf J. Kimblee,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Kimblee, you nearly died the other night. You probably past out from blood loss a few minutes before the train reached North City. If the engineers hadn’t radioed in for the hospital to have sent down an ambulance beforehand, you probably would have died,” she said. “Those must have been some lucky rocks you were holding onto.”

Kimblee frowned for a moment, his mind hazy. Rocks? 

The Philospher’s Stones!

“Yes. They are lucky. Where are they?” he asked.

“On your bedside table. Here,”

She walked around his bed, and Kimblee turned his head to follow her movement. She picked up the paper cup that sat on the small bedside table, and dumped the contents into her hand. His two Philosopher’s stones.

She held them out to him, and he slowly lifted his hand out from under the covers to accept the stones. They felt familiar in his grip.

“If they’re really lucky, they’ll help you get better quick, huh?” she said. 

Kimblee smiled.

“If I’m lucky,” he said.


End file.
